


Second Tale

by elven_prophecy



Series: Tales from the Darkest Dungeons [2]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Animalistic, Caught, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Taboo, Transformation, Violence, sex interrupted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-13 13:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elven_prophecy/pseuds/elven_prophecy
Summary: Enjoy!!Comments are love!Comments are life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

1

   The church bells rang, cracking the ominous silence that enveloped the hamlet following the massacre brought on by Wuulf’s brigands.  There was a hopelessness that wrapped around the very throat of the villagers. 

   With the Old Road crawling with cut-throats and thieves, supplies were scarce and hunger rations had to be halved again.  The Church had opened its doors to the needy and starving, Sister Isabeaux, had been up since the crack of dawn, scrubbing at bloody floors (the Penance hall to be exact).  She’d been ignored for the most part and had ignored everyone. She refused supper last eve (she’d given her portion to a man with empty eyes and a huge scar on his face).

   He’d been refused food, the Sister had not understood why, nor had she cared.  The Versebook spoke of helping and loving others, be them Lepers or Sinners, and so Isabeaux had forfeited her meager meal.

   The Abbott had been outraged at her act, for the man he’d explained, had made a pact with the very demons that haunted these accursed woods.  She was denied breakfast and her penance (the Abbott had used the word) was to clean the blood from the halls.

    The Sister had hummed as many Verse songs she could think of as she worked.  They made the work fun (as a Sister of St. Martha this was fun for her…). Isabeaux gave the floor on final look over and nodded in satisfaction.  It would do until the next overzealous believer got a little too excited.

  Gathering her bloodied rags and tossing them into the wooden bucket, Isabeaux slowly got to her feet.  She immediately took the dirty bucket outside and returned with another pail filled with fresh water. She emptied the fresh water all over the floors and finished scrubbing until the entire area practically sparkled.

   Her stomach growled something fierce as she left the Church and made her way to the fenced-in courtyard at the back of the building.  There, she returned the tools she’d used and took a deep breath as she rubbed her belly.

   She gave in to a silent prayer as she left and went straight for the mess hall where the other Sisters had gathered the flock.  The food would be in that room…

   Isabeaux bowed her head and swallowed the saliva filling her mouth as the smell of warm stew filled her nostrils.  

   A small wooden bowl was handed to her, for which she was grateful.  She didn’t bother with a wooden spoon and drank from the bowl deeply.

   The soup was bland.  She could tell this had been watered down again, trying to make it stretch and last for as long as possible.  There was no flavour (though she knew potatoes were the main ingredient), you couldn’t tell by the taste.

   When she finished her small meal she made her way to the stone pews and had sat down with her head bowed.

   To those looking at the diminutive Sister, one would say that she was praying devoutly, when in truth, she did no such thing.  This was not a life she had chosen for herself being the bi-blow of a street walker and a client. Her mother (whom she did not know) had dropped her off at one of the many convents, she hadn’t even been given a name (the Mother Superior there had bestowed the name Isabeaux on her, named for one of the many disciples of St. Martha).

   She daydreamed (a sin for those of the cloth) and liked to pretend in her own head that marriage and children would eventually come to her.  She had always wanted a family to love and be loved.

   “Thank you,” a male voice surprised her out of her daydream and made her jump.  Her heart was pounding a mile a minute and she pressed a palm to her breast.

   “You’re welcome…” she trailed off as she answered automatically before realizing that it was the man from before thanking her.

  He was barefooted and half naked, and surrounded in chains that glittered almost magically.  Padlocks of the likes she’d never seen connected many of the links together. Both of his wrists were manacled, but the chain hanging from his wrists weren’t attached to anything else.  His pants were torn and tattered and hung off his lean hips. He was clutching what looked like a matted fur cloak with one hand at his chest, his shoulders were hunched.

   He was partially bald as though someone had given him a real bad haircut, the rest of his hair was knotted and hung in his face.  The scar was rather nasty looking, it was definitely done with a brand now that she got a good look at it.  Someone had done it to him deliberately…

  Isabeaux would have winced but his feral eyes caught her full attention.  In the dim candlelights she thought she saw them flash and glow, reflecting the firelight like an animal.  

   He gave her a small smile when her voice trailed off and she swallowed almost nervously. 

   “Did you sell your soul to the Darkness?” her question burst through her lips unheeded, and she turned scarlet while her eyes widened to the size of gold coins (really?!?).  

   The man did not move, but she did notice his fingers tightening around the cloak he was wearing as he looked down at her.

   The silence was deafening and she found goosebumps exploding across her skin.

   “The Church may think so,” he finally answered, choosing his words deliberately, “but where I come from, _I_ am not the Abomination,” he let the words hang, and eyed her intently.  His meaning was not lost on the Vestal and she sighed heavily.

   “I am so-”

   “Sorry?” he cut her off with a shrug and a smile. “It was nice seeing one of faith not be such a sanctimonious bastard for once.” 

   She reddened and her gaze fell on the ground.  She couldn’t defend or explain and so she remained silent.

    With her gaze averted she didn’t see the man leave when he did and it wasn’t until she got to her feet to return to her spartan room that she realized that though his words could have been construed as insulting, he’d really given her a compliment (at the expense of the church…).

   Isabeaux sat down on her tiny bed and did her usual night prayers, she was reminded of the reflective eyes of the Abomination and something happened as she lay there staring at the blackness above her head.

   She felt her hand glide beneath her thin blanket and she pleasured herself to taboo thoughts of having a werewolf as a lover.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

2

   She was digging for roots at the edge of the darkened forest when she saw _him_ again.  He, and three others (an Occultist, Plague Doctor and Hellion), emerged from the Weald, covered in blood and gore.

    The Hellion had been at Death’s door, yet maddened into an almost rapturous glee (booze fixed that affliction right quick).  The Occultist was bleeding heavily and leaning on a panting, bloody Doctor (both needed to Meditate to rid themselves of the Horrors they’d borne witness to lest they succumb like the Barbarian).

    _He_ was _unaffected_.

   Isabeaux had remained on her knees when he threw his head back and howled in jubilation (he hadn’t seen her yet, so she believed).  He almost dropped to his knees in the dead grass and mud that was everywhere.

   The reality of the matter was he’d _had_ smelled her hours before, _had_ deliberately led his wounded group straight to _her_.  

   To safety.  

   To salvation.

    _His_ salvation.

   They’d barely escaped a very long maze filled with grotesque beasts and fanatical cultists.  He known they would have to retreat when the Hellion (Sielle was her name) almost fell. The Doctor had barely kept herself together while their healer had nearly bled to death, despite having a medic with them.

  It took but a moment for his reflective eyes to spot her there, _there_ , kneeling in the dirt.  She was staring at him for what felt like hours (but was barely a heartbeat in reality) before her eyes traveled to his companions.  The beast heard her gasp, heard the rush of her blood flow to her legs as she sprinted in their direction.

   She’d dropped to her knees beside the bleeding Sielle and recite many of the healing prayers of the Versebook.  The beast twitched an eyebrow as her powers enveloped them all.

   “Come,” Isabeaux helped the Hellion stand, “we’re not far from help!” And she dragged them to the medical ward.

    It seemed an eternity before his comrades were all seen to and he was left blessedly alone with the small Sister.  She was still covered in Sielle’s blood and it mixed sweetly with the scent of her sweat.

   “What happened?” she finally asked, her voice barely a sound on the winds.

   “We had the misfortune of stumbling into a nest of cultists,” he muttered and then sighed heavily, “they chased us into a fungus fiasco,” he continued and then shook his head, “I’m honestly surprised we all survived.”

   Her eyes had remained on his face the entire time he talked, except for once.  He’d noticed her eyes dropping to his mouth and a spike of lust went through him.  He then found himself wondering what the Vestal would taste like.

   He was still staring at her when he finally noticed her facial expression.  She was looking at him as though she were waiting for him to speak or answer her.  He hadn't heard her speak, and he had no idea what to say so he continued to stare at her.

   She turned a delicious red and her eyes dropped from his.  The beast whined internally when he suddenly caught scent of a most surprising odour.  His mouth watered _immediately_ and his eyes narrowed as he focused _all_ his attention on the little Vestal.

   It was her arousal.

   For _him_ .   _She_ wanted _him_.

   He tilted his head back and took a deep, visible breath.  Not realizing how bestial it made him look.

    _Definitely_ arousal.

   He lowered his head and she gasped, her own breathing changing as he leaned forward quickly.  He’d buried his face in the side of her headdress sending it askew, a green-veined hand found its way to it from behind and freed her long, yellow hair.

   The breathy noises she was making heightened, turning into quiet moans.  Both of her hands (which had been trembling and pushing _against_ him) ceased their objections and laid, palm down, against his bare chest.  She made more noises as his other arm snaked around her lower back and brought her hard against him.  He tilted his hips forward, pressing his erection into her lower section.

   She made a squeak-like noise as his face moved to the crook of her neck and shoulder.  Her hands linked behind his head, holding him to her. He growled against her collar bone and pulled back to look down at the Sister with penetrating intensity.

   “Do you understand what I am about to do?” He spoke with deliberate slowness as he pushed his hips against her to emphasize his meaning.

   Isabeaux was rooted for all of a split second, and then she relaxed, her answer a breathless sigh. “Yes.”

   Those feral eyes glowed with such ferocity and before she could change her mind, he swooped.  His lips claimed hers without preamble and his hand buried itself in her hair. The sound of chains clinking together was almost deafening and she pulled away a little.

   “Your chains…” she trailed off, unsure how to phrase her concern.  Would he transform if he lost control?

   Bestial eyes flickered over her face and his lips lifted at the corner.

   “Afraid I will turn?” He teased.  She blushed and looked away while his grin widened, “The beast likes you,” he murmured, “Shall I show you his devotion?”

   He didn't wait for her to answer, instead he dropped to his knees in front of her and quite literally went under her habit.  She squeaked and both hands grabbed his head through her dress while he made a beeline for her core, shredding her undergarments with his sharp claws as he went.

   A surprised shriek escaped her mouth as his strong, broad tongue first touched her pleasure pearl.  His hot breath burned her skin and she practically doubled over him as her knees shook uncontrollably.

  Three more licks brought out three more squeaks, and finally a grunt as he pulled away from the Vestal long enough to lay her on the ground, spread her legs and return to her core, this time both of them in a more comfortable position.

   Both her hands had returned to his head, clutching his matted hair tightly, forcing him to stay where he was.  It was unnecessary. No force on earth would move him from betwixt her thighs, the Beast would see to it.

   She tasted of woman, pure unadulterated earthy woman.  He inhaled her musk as he satiated a deep hunger that was potentially insatiable.  He sucked at her clit, and licked at her entrance like a man starved, and he may as well be considering what he was.  Those of the Faith had very valid reasons to fear him and his kind.

   Her legs kept twitching around his head as he circled her clitoris with his tongue over and over again, pressing against her with abandon.  He used his thumbs to spread her open, and she moaned as he pressed inward with his thumbs, pushing into her entrance.

   He didn't get far before he reached her maidenhead and paused in his ministrations.  He gave her nub a gentle lick and growled seductively against her as her breath caught.

   “You're a virgin,” he whispered against her, his breath tickling her.  

   She shivered and gasped as his tongue penetrated her with a deliberate slowness. “Yes!”

   He surged above her, his mouth locking on hers.  She tasted herself on his tongue and she moaned against him as he plundered her mouth.  He didn’t wait for her to change her mind as his fingers attacked the drawstrings of his ripped leggings.

   She didn’t get to see his phallus as the moment he had it freed, he was quick to rock against her.  Her breath hitched as he glided flush against her core. He growled against her mouth and tightened his grip on the partially clothed Sister, bringing her closer to his heated body.  He rocked against her again and almost whined but caught himself in time.

   He could feel her trembling beneath him and for the briefest of moments the man was able to reign in the Beast and he hesitated.  They were outside, within a stone throw of the hamlet, not even the shelter of trees was granted them.

    And yet... she had eyes only for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!
> 
> Triggers: Some slight dub-con, and kidnapping. May feel non-con but it all is consensual (she just has second thoughts lol).

3

    He didn’t feel his own hand snaking down to firmly grasp his cock, or the way he rubbed the tip along her nether lips, covering himself in her juices until it was too late.  He’d aimed for her entrance and his hips had nailed her to the ground in one, swift thrust. She’d screamed, and he’d silenced her by kissing her deeply, swallowing her pain.

    He held himself perfectly still, her legs were taut around his hips, her muscles forcing the bones of her knees into his sides painfully in her effort to ensure he did not move.  Her eyes were clenched closed and her breathing came in shallow, short bursts.

   She was _definitely_ in pain.  Her blood was a perfume on the air that had his mouth watering.  He was man enough to take possessive pride in the fact that he was her _first_ lover.

   _Last_ , the Beast corrected.

 _Only_ , they thought in unison, both in agreement on the matter.

   He nibbled at her chin, and licked his way up to her ear.  He growled against her skin as her breath came in even smaller puffs.  He could hear the hammering of her heart and it did things to him that he would rather not explain.

   “I’m going to start moving now,” he murmured, his voice guttural, barely human.  He didn’t recognize himself.

   Her breathing hitched and he felt her hands flutter along his back, looking for a hold on him.  Finding none (he’d tossed his mangy fur cloak to the side), she made fists against his back and tightened her legs about his waist.  

   His first push into her was slow as was his near-exit.  He kept the pace the same, and though her thighs did not ease around him, he did note that she no longer tried to keep him still, instead she tilted her hips and tried to match him.

   His stomach bottomed out after he found himself hilted in her.   _Yes_.

   _Out_.  Her legs tightened deliciously about his waist.   _In_. She clung to him, raking her nails against his flesh and moaning softly.

   _Yeeees_.

   He pulled out completely, she almost panicked (her hands moving like butterfly wings along his back) but then mewl her relief when he surged back, a damp sound of skin on skin.  His eyes closed and he lost himself in her heat, in her wetness. The sounds their bodies were making become something obscene with her desire spilling from her core so readily.   

   His eyes snapped opened as he felt his sack tighten.  _No_.  His orgasm had built up quicker than he’d ever experienced, or ever _expected_ .   _Too much_ .   _Too fast_.  

   The Beast howled in his mind (and he did as well though much less so) as her pussy clenched around him and started milking him _hard_.  The man scrambled for purchase, trying to hold back.

   _Spirits_ .  He moaned and it turned into a feral growl.   _Too tight_.  

   His glowing eyes pinned her with the intensity of a thousand fires as wave after wave of pleasure soon crashed into her.  He stilled completely. She was drenching him but it wasn’t enough, not for him and not for her.

   She cried out and wiggled beneath him desperately, not understanding what it was she was looking for but knowing instinctively that _he_ could provide it.  He’d denied her to prevent himself from spilling like an untried youth.  Just as he about to bring them to completion, the world crashed around them.    

   “ _Sister_!” a screech of absolute shock/horror/disgust (take your pick) resounded throughout the area.  Crows and ravens cawed and took flight at the pitch.

   The lovers froze.  She turned a red of such bold colour that the Abomination above her dropped over her to hide her from morbidly curious eyes; let them stare at _him_.  She buried her face against his skin and whimpered in mortification.  He understood the sound and it gutted him.

   _Not his Vestal_.

  He raised his head sharply and his glowing, reflective eyes narrowed to mere slits as he focused his attention on the newcomer.  It was another Sister accompanied by an older priest. He opened his mouth, and without so much as moving, bared his teeth and let out an animalistic snarl that sent the pair of them scurrying like deer before the wolf (which he very much was).  He was literally foaming at the mouth.

   He glanced back down to the shivering Sister in his arms.  Her skin had gone pale and she was cold and clammy (despite being partially dressed).  The Beast wanted to continue rutting, marking her as his, rubbing his scent all over her but the man was in control here.  He had to be in control.

   _They had to leave_.

   He withdrew from the Vestal (ignoring the vicious howling objections in his head) and re-dressed himself quickly (they would return with weapons if not that Crusader he’d seen around town).  He didn’t say a word as he gathered the semi nude Sister and bundled her up in his arms.

   She squeaked and shook her head. “This was a b-bad idea,” she forced out, her voice shaking, “please p-put m-me down.”

   The corner of his lips lifted briefly. “No.”

   Her eyes widened and for a split second he wondered if she would start fighting him (she was coming with him now whether she wanted to or not... she was _his_ now).  When she didn’t, he turned into the very forest he and his group had fled that very morning.

   No one would give chase in the Weald.  And if they did...

   Heh.  He would unleash hell and remind those of the Faith (for no others would chase them) why exactly they were losing their holy war for he was a barbarian of the North.  Like the Occultists who had made pacts with the Otherside, so had he and others like him. Spirits guide him, he’d merged his soul with that of an Eldritch demon and was able to call on the power of Darkness to do battle.

   It wouldn’t be just the cultist and the demons they would have to worry about.  The Beast was horrifyingly _real_ , with claws that could kill a bull in one swipe, and teeth that could ground bone to dust.  It stood a massive eight feet tall, ten if you added the two feet of sharp horns on its head.  Its bulk was no laughing matter either for it weighed as much as a horse, and could run as fast as one as well. 

   And it bubbled just below the surface of his skin, waiting for release.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  4

   Isabeaux kept her face hidden against his throat, her eyes clenched closed to keep the tears at bay as a myriad of emotions rolled in her head.  Horror, shame, anger and quite surprisingly, relief.

 She didn’t realize or know exactly where he was taking her and at this point she didn’t really care.  She was just glad they were going somewhere far, far away. Away from the judgemental eyes, away from tongues that were sure to be wagging back at the church.  Light preserve her… her life in the Church was over...

   When she finally opened her eyes, she found that he’d stopped near a large crypt amidst dead trees and he was breathing heavily.  He still held her in his arms, and his grip was tight, borderline painful, but Isabeaux didn’t mind. She was enjoying the closeness more than she would ever admit to anyone but the Light and herself.  She needed his closeness right now. He was all she had now, wasn't he?

   He shuffled her in his arms and gently lowered her until her feet touched the ground.  He made sure to press her against himself the whole way down (almost as if he knew she needed this) and grinned down at her as she glanced up at him with caution.  She couldn’t stop the tears starting to well. 

   The Beast whined in his mind as he caught scent of her fear.  The man immediately lowered his head and rubbed his forehead against hers, trying to comfort her in his own way; she had no reasons to fear him, she would  _ never _ have to fear him.  She seem to understand for she pushed her forehead back against his.

   His hand moved of its own volition as he cupped her cheek, his thumb wiped at the tears threatening to escape her eyes.  She sighed heavily and he gathered her closer to his body, wrapping his green-veined arms about her and allowing her to cry against his shoulder.

   He didn’t say anything to her as she sobbed quietly, clutching at him as though he were a lifeline, and deep down, he knew he was.

   After a few minutes, she sniffled and hid her face with a hand. “I’m s-sorry,” she hiccuped, avoiding his eyes.

   He lowered his head to nuzzle her, and then he licked at her tears, kissing her eyes as he did so. “Don’t cry,” he rumbled, tightening his hold on her.

   She took a deep breath and licked her lips as she turned her head to the side and laid an ear against his chest.  She was silent as she listened to his steady heartbeat.

   “Now what?” she whispered, staring at a fungus growing out of a dead tree.

_ Mate _ , his Beast growled.  They had been interrupted before...  

   He shook his head, that could wait.  He rubbed her back soothingly. Her long hair fell down in waves and he couldn’t help himself as he ran his fingers through it.  His claws cut through the knots. It was a shame she hid such beauty beneath a habit…

   “What do you want to do, Sweeting?” he countered, pulling back a little to glance down at her. 

   She swallowed and kept her eyes on the dead tree. “I...I don’t know…”

   He chuckled and rubbed her back more steadily.  The Beast growled inwardly but he squashed it down.  In due time. “You wish to return to the Church?” he asked sincerely, dreading her answer but not wanting to take the choice from her completely.  He didn't know if he would be able to let her go though…

   She shook her head against his chest. “No…” He released the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and rubbed her back more vigorously. “Can I stay with you?” she whispered, her voice muffled against his skin.

   If he hadn't had such good control over the Beast, he would have howled right then.  Instead he slowed his hands and lowered his head so that he was looking in her eyes as he spoke. “Forever?” 

   Her breath caught and she made an attempt to look away, but he brought her eyes back to his with a hand on her chin. “Do you believe in fate, Sweeting?” he asked slowly.

   “Fate is a pagan belief,” she began automatically and he chuckled.

   “And I am a pagan man,” he smiled at her, “Stay with me forever?” 

   Her eyes were wide as she stared at him for what felt like an eternity.  She blinked twice before she finally blushed a bright red and smiled, probably her first genuine smile. “You sure?”

   “Wolves mate for life,” he said deliberately.

   She pulled away from him and frowned. “Is it true then?”

   His lips lifted briefly and he chuckled, knowing exactly what she meant. “Yes, Sweeting, it is true.” 

   “Is there a cure?” she asked, laying her head against his chest again.

   The Beast snarled viciously in his mind and he shushed it.  She was not familiar with their ways, it was only natural for her to ask the same questions as everyone else. “No.”

   “Good,” she surprised him by murmuring.  The Beast whined apologetically and he felt it lower its head, contrite. “It suits you,” she added and then hid her face against his skin.

_ Mate _ , it growled repeatedly in his head.   _ Mate.  Mate. MATE _ .

  He moved until he had her back against the crypt.  She raised her head and before she could speak he swooped down and claimed her lips.  She groaned against his mouth and her fingers curled into his chest.

   He growled and his hands reached down to grab her legs to wrap them around his waist.  She didn't fight him as he reached between their bodies and pulled his sick from his pants.  He'd shredded her under garments earlier so there was no barrier between them. He was quick to rub himself against her.

   Despite the fact that they had been interrupted and he'd taken them halfway out of the hamlet (She had no idea how far into the Weald he'd taken them), she was very much still wet.  He didn't have to rub much before he sunk his length into her with a hiss.

   The Beast howled as she tightened around him and he found himself slowly losing control.  Their lips remained locked as he grinded against her. His claws dug into the walls of the crypt (his chains were clinking against the wall) while she wrapped her limbs about his person, both her arms about his neck and her thighs about his hips.  He was lost inside her.

   He roared against her skin when she climaxed and brought him over the edge with her.  His ejaculation rushed from his body like a hot knife through butter. She tightened like a vise and he emptied himself inside her willing womb.

   They stood together panting and sweating heavily for a few minutes.  She'd collapsed against him, her arms and legs still wrapped around him, her eyes closed.  He'd clawed furrows in the stone wall of the crypt, he was sweaty and panting, but he'd never felt better.  

   He had his mate.

   “I just realize I don't know your name…” she whispered suddenly, her face reddening though her eyes remained closed.

   He chuckled and pressed an open mouth kiss to her mouth. “Étienne,” he answered, “My name is Étienne.”

   “I love you, Étienne,” she said suddenly, turning her face to hide against him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> This is it for this one :)
> 
> If anyone has ideas on pairings feel free to throw me ideas in the comments! There is no limit of short stories for this series :)

###  5

  The growling of her stomach is what brought them back to reality.  She blushed and he chuckled as he slowly put her down.  He didn’t say anything about her sudden declaration.  He didn't need too.

   “You need to feed,” he spoke calmly, a smile tugging at his lips.  She nodded and then glanced about curiously.

   “What, exactly?” she queried.

   It was his turn to blush faintly as he seem to realize where they were, and there was, in fact, nothing to eat.  The Beast came to his rescue though and he caught wind of a wild hare just east of where they were. 

    He  _ almost _ whined nervously as another realization dawned on him.  He’d have to leave the little Vestal alone to go and hunt for her.

    Suddenly his choice of entering the Weald to get away from the Church felt rushed and dangerous.  He knew better than most what ran around out here, and none of it was good.

   He couldn’t prevent the anxious whine that escaped his throat that time and she actually hugged him close as though to comfort him. “What is it?” she asked, wrapping her slender arms about his neck.  

   “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he rumbled against her throat.

  “Then don’t,” she answered simply. 

 He smiled faintly. “If I’m going to feed you, I must hunt.”

   “Oh,” she mouthed the words and then shrugged, “I’ll stay here, hidden in the crypt,” she added as though it was a brilliant idea.

   It wasn’t.  He knew it wasn’t, but they didn’t have a lot of options open to them.  He had to get them food and then they could resume their flight. He’d take her home, his home, in the North.  Where he could guarantee her safety.

   “Do not come out for  _ anything _ ,” he stressed, breaking the door open.  A musty, rotten smell of death wafted over them and they both grimaced.

   She arranged her half destroyed habit and stepped into the crypt.  He stared at her intently, and before he left her, he reached forward and pressed his mouth to hers.  He inhaled her scent and when he pulled away, she was breathless.

   “ _Don’t come out for anything_!” he repeated as he slowly backed away from the crypt.

   She nodded solemnly and crouched down low in between some stacked coffins.  She immediately closed her eyes and started praying silently. St. Martha would not abandon her, no matter what she’d done.  Isabeaux believed this.

***********

  It took him longer than he would have liked to hunt that rabbit down.  He was frustrated enough that when he did get his claws on the critter it took all his will power not to rip the bloody thing in half.

   He took great pleasure in killing it though.  Strangling it had proven to be self satisfying in its own way.

   There wasn’t any time to waste.  He had to return to his Vestal and quickly.  Wuulf’s brigands had cut off most of the hamlet and they were crawling all over the Old Road, and she wasn’t exactly well hidden either.

   He was making his way back when he heard what he could only describe as his Vestal screaming bloody murder.  

   He didn’t even feel the change coming over him.  The Beast had surged forward without him ceding control and its savage snarl echoed throughout the Weald.  It usually hurt when he transformed; it felt like his skin was turned inside out and his skull split open. Not this time.

   And when he finally got back to the crypt (the Beast made quick work of it), it was to find his Vestal surrounded by two knife wielders and two hooded archers.

   He released a low feral growl and without waiting for them to notice his presence, he lowered his head and dived into their midst.  His horns gored one of the surprised archers (didn’t kill the bastard though). 

   “Étienne!!” she practically shrieked his name and then it must have dawned on her that  _ he _ was the monster chewing on the head of the gored archer (he was dead now) for her eyes widened and she paled.

   He roared as a knife was buried in his back, a well placed swipe (just below the chin) with his claws took the head clean off (It bounced into the forest and out of sight).  The dagger remained in his back though, he’d deal with that later.

   The remaining archer took aim, but missed him by  _ feet _ .  The look of horror on his face was priceless until the Beast ate his face (he’d cherish the visual forever).  The last knife wielder wasn't quite as brave but before he could bolt, Isabeaux smashed him in the head with a rock.

   It didn't quite stun him but it stilled him long enough for the Beast to jump on him and tear him apart.  She didn't say anything when he finally stood up and straightened.  He was covered in gore and bloody, slimy drool was dripping from his mouth, but she did not shy away from him.

   Quite the contrary she came rushing towards him and hugged him while he was the Beast.  Both he and it were surprised and stood rooted to the ground as she clutched his thick fur in her fists and buried her face against him.  It took him a moment to realize she was crying against his fur.

   Transforming back was harder with the adrenaline still pumping, but he did it.  She was still clutching him as he shrunk down in size (her arms eventually wrapped around him in a hug). The dagger that had been embedded in his back dropped to the ground unheeded and his wounds healed as though Isabeaux herself had done the healing (which she hadn't, a fortunate side effect of the Beast).  His body was shaking as he wrapped his arms around her.

   “You're all right,” he muttered against her, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

   “I didn't come out,” she whispered, her face in his chest.

   “I know, Sweeting,” he tried to smile reassuringly, but failed as he suddenly remembered he'd dropped the rabbit carcass when he'd transformed.  He grumbled under his breath, and the smirked since the hunt was over, there was no reason not to drag her with him to fetch it.

   “We're going to eat,” he turned them back whence he'd come, away from the carnage and bodies, towards their meal, “And then we're going home.”

   She let him lead her away, glad to be gone from this dangerous place. “Perfect.”


End file.
